Of Dancing and Klutzes
by NessieSaysRawr
Summary: ...and the love that evolves from a bout of physical therapy. Dalton!verse drabbles, all revolving around the characters Reed and Shane, and their relationship. The good, the bad, and the klutzy. :   Be prepared for sporadic updates.
1. Of Cripples and Breakdowns

I was just minding my business, see. Well...kind of.

I was in my brother's room, at Dalton, waiting for him to detach himself from Kurt-his-perfect-shiny-brand-new-boyfriend long enough to drive me to physical therapy. It's not that I can't drive, trust me. I can totally rock the streets-That is, after another 8 weeks of recovery. Doctor's orders: Don't Drive, Don't Dance, Don't try this at home, Stay in school. _Sigh. _

In order to get here, I called in a favor with the twins. They flew me in right-quick, their chauffeur driving me the rest of the way here like the crippled man I've become. After some help hobbling up the stairs and taking a few shortcuts, I found Blaine's room empty...and his journal, sticking out from beneath his pillow, so very tempting...

I mean, come on. I may be only a few months his junior, but that's just it. I'm his _junior. _His little brother. It's kind of my job to investigate, right? Right. He only has himself to blame. Jesus, it was just _laying _there! It was like it was waiting for me, beckoning me to read into his dirty little secrets. It was calling me. My brother's journal was calling me. I was doing the right thing.

So...I may or may not have been killing my time here by inspecting my brother's misplaced belonging...you know. Checking it out. Making sure he's not gettin' into too much trouble here. (Including adding a few footnotes here and there, filling in the details he'd purposefully left out. "So Kurt...MY Kurt...God, I love writing that...My Kurt and I spent the rest of the night, into early morning, staring at the sunrise. Like a Cinderella story, right?" _" Yeah, 'cause good 'ole Cinderelly spent the whole night of the ball mackin' on Prince Charming." _For some, I even added illustrations. To help, with the more in-depth and varied-opinions now. I do believe my proofreading of his daily adventures/dirty little secrets was top-notch. In fact-It really is quite good...Maybe I'll pocket this...)

My inner musings were interrupted by the creak of a door. I jumped, shoving my brother's journal beneath his pillow again.

"What was that?" a soft voice carried from the doorway, curious. I looked up, preparing my excuse. _It fell, open, onto the ground, you see, and I just had to read it, I didn't really have a choice-Illegal drug inspection? A hologram was being projected through the coffee-stained pages, It foretold a prophecy-I thought it was a map to buried treasure-_

Oh. _Oh. _

Reed. My eyes finally focused on the space across the room. "N-Nothing," I grimaced.

"You were reading Blaine's diary, weren't you?" He'd come closer, now, closing the door with a soft _click _behind him. His light footfalls permeated the silent room on the hardwood, until he finally was standing next to the bed I perched on. Blaine's bed. Blaine's bed, that I was reading Blaine's diary on-correction, the bed I just got caught reading Blaine's diary on-I blanched, chuckling awkwardly and nodding twice beneath his accusing yet seemingly amused gaze. "You're such a little twerp of a brother, it's a bit of a stereotype." He sighed, a slight grin adorning his features. I frowned.

"If we're pointing finger's about _little _guys around here-" Reed gasped, swatting my torso with a light _thwap. _I howled with laughter, his quiet protests at the short joke muffled.

"You're a jerk," he grumbled, sinking onto the bed next to me and crossing his arms. "I should've sworn that word off a long time ago; it always gets the same reaction." he shot me a guilt-inducing pout before letting his head hit the mattress beneath him.

My guffaws slowed, "Oh, c'mon...It was just a joke," I chuckled still. "Wait-Why are you even in here? Blaine's off with Kurt." I looked down at him questioningly. He colored, the rosy tint flushing his cheekbones and collar.

"I...Charlie told me you were here," he whispered, "he says he helped you up the stairs?"

"Yeah..." I grinned. "You came here to see me?" He blushed again. _Victory!_

"Shut up."

"You _missed _me-"

"I _said _shut up!"

"You _liiiike _me-"

"You're ridiculous."

"You wanna _kiiiiss_ me-!"

"_Shane Anderson, _I _swear!" _

He'd shot up, now inches from my face. I could faintly hear him scolding my childishness, his breath warming my jaw-but all I could think was _dear god, he's so close. _

And he was. Golden eyes ablaze, he was only a few inches from my face. Had we been the same height, we'd be...we'd be.

Then, he caught on as well.

"_Oh!" _he squealed. He jumped back in surprise, managing to catch the back of his head on the bedpost. I winced, reaching out to steady him. "Ow..." he groaned, touching the back of his head with two slender fingers. They came back, crimson. "Shit," he sighed. I gasped.

"I'm _fine, _it's just a scratch-"

"Reed Van Kamp, did you just curse?" I giggled. He rolled his eyes, getting up and attempting to storm out. That is, he managed to do fine until about the fourth step, when he caught a bedside rug and stumbled-

I reached out and caught the back of his sweater, standing to catch him. "Klutz," I laughed softly again. He whipped around, tearing my hand from him.

"Don't _touch _me!" he hissed. I flinched, taking a step towards his retreating form.

"Reed!" I yelled, concerned.

"Leave me alone; I should never have come here." I could hear the tears, and I gasped again, reaching out to stop him. He struggled against my grip on his shoulder, and I saw a trickle of blood fall down the back of his neck.

"What the hell, Reed? Tell me what I did to make you so angry!" he stopped struggling quite so fiercely. "Yeah, you should stop with that, the extra blood flow can't be good for that fresh wound, there..."

He finally wrenched my hand from his shoulder, turning to look at me, and my heart broke.

Eyes gleaming, the smaller of the two leered through heavy amber locks. Huffing, he looked up, swallowing thickly.

"What if I...?" He shook his head, looking at his feet. He worried the edge of his sweater, pulling out strands anxiously.

"What if you...?" I pressed, gently. He gulped, peering up.

"What if I did?" His eyes bore into mine, fierce, burning.

"W-What?"

"What if I did...want to...W-Want." He tripped over his own words, stopping mid-phrase and visibly biting his tongue aside his inner cheek.

"Reed...?"

"I just-" A new tear rode down his cheek, and he visibly shook. "You're so _frustrating!" _He sobbed, "F-forget it, you know what? I'm leaving-"

"NO!" I stopped him yet again. "I'm not...quite following you. I won't...I won't make fun of your height anymore, okay? It's cute, it really is, I'm sorry, I know it's all my fault and I screwed up-"

"Shut _up, _Shane." Now he just looked annoyed.

"But I-!"

"N-No. It's my turn, now." His voice was throaty, his words choked and fighting their way through the fear.

"What if I...What if I wanted, to..." he took a shuddering breath, and I almost reached out to steady the tiny body that shook far too much when he did that, but I just stood frozen, afraid of his reaction to my touching him right now. "What...if I wanted," he started again, voice stronger, "to be with you?"

"You are with me." I breathed. He glared. Damn.

"You _know _what I mean." My eyes widened. "Like...like you said. Before we got on the plane." I stopped breathing.

"Is that s-so bad?" He whimpered. "To want to be with someone that you almost lost? S-Someone that you-you-" I nodded, gaping at the wonder before me, "and me?" he bit his lip, fresh tears welling up again.

"Reed..." I breathed.

"I h-hate you," he choked out. I could feel my stomach tighten, the hot boiling rejection welling in my abdomen, my cheeks flushing embarrassingly and the hot salty tears coming up to my own eyes, now. He stopped me when I opened my mouth.

"I hate you for leaving me," he sobbed. "I hate that you were almost gone, because of me and my _stupid _painting." I held my breath, nodding morosely.

"I hate that you know how to make my life hell without even being _around _me half of the damn time," he hissed, " I hate that my life was made hell most of that time _because_ you weren't here in the first place." My tears spilled over now, streaming down my face.

_Reed..._

"I hate that you make me care about you. I hate the way you just came in, one day, and changed _everything!" _he wailed. I reached for him. "_No!" _he swatted my arm away.

"I _hate_ that you had to go and make me love you, and _then_ you left! I hate that once we get you back, once _I _get you back," he's breathing erratically, finger poking into my chest and pushing me back toward the bed again. I follow his lead, his small form seeming so enormous in his tear-soaked rage and yet to tiny, afraid.

"-and then, once you're alive again, safe, _he _comes back and you're gone again, except it's worse! It's like he's here, and you might as well be on that fucking mountain again, because I'm so fucking far away when he's around! He's the one person I can't fucking stand right now, and I don't even _know _him! You know why, _Shane? _Because of _you!" _he shrieked.

The backs of my knees finally hit the bed frame, and my weak joints disallowed me to stand upright any longer. Reed seemed to notice what he'd done, and simply rolled his eyes and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. When it pulled away, his eyes were still brimmed red. He leaned forward, and our faces were so goddamn close, again.

"I'm going to do this. So just-just _hush_, for a minute." I nodded jerkily, afraid of breaking the fragile soul before me.

He reached out with his slender hand, fingernails long stained by acrylics, and pushed my curls from before my eyes. "Shane..." he choked back a sob, and shook his head, before leaning in.

He was going to kiss me. _Kiss _me.

_Reed. was going. to kiss. _

_ME. _

_Reed Van Kamp. Okay. _

Okay.

And he did.

We did.

I was too far, too gone, to hear the door open once again; hear my brother amble in behind a stack of books, whistling.

"So Shane, sorry I kept you waiting-" A thud. "Holyshit."


	2. Of Awkward Car Rides and Coffee

The gentle hum of the engine reverberated throughout the vehicle, breathing deeply like a spoiled pet.

_Reed drives like Blaine,_ I think:_ careful, measured turns and eyes glued about-face._

_The bad part is, I hate riding with Blaine. _If I had a car like this-Oh, man. When Reed offered to drive me to therapy today-

_Wait!_ Wait. Okay, can we just stop right there and marvel for a bit? Reed _wante_d to drive me today. He didn't lose a bet. Blaine wasn't busy or anything, Reed just showed up, and offered. As if that wasn't weird enough(I mean, wasting his time on lil' ole me? Shucks.), he asked if he could _watch. _Like, he followed me into the little office where I'm treated and asked the lady a bunch of questions about why she had to pull this, tug that, make that hurt like _hell-_

(-Okay, not his words...but they _should'_ve been. Seriously. These old ladies must've been in the frickin' marine corps or something in their prime. They've got some guns on 'em! I walk in my first time, thinking, _Oh, look. A sweet, elderly woman. Harmless. This won't hurt at all-FFFUUUUUUUUUUU, WHAT WHAT WHAT ARE YOU DOING-)_

I wince, and shake my head. _Happy thoughts. Dancing. Eating. _

My stomach growls. _Damn it. _

The dull grays and forest greens blur and mix together behind the thick glass of the window, creating an image not unlike a tired scrap of an oil painting.

_Or, melted mint ice cream. Mmmmm. _

No. Bad stomach.

The highway was barren, spare the miles upon miles of yellow dashes flying along the asphalt being my only company.I spot an overhanging steel sign: _Exit right, Rest Stop. Left, Westerville. _Well, at least the torture's almost over.

Almost.

A steady stream of cool, detergent-scented air circulates between rocking the medal hanging by a ribbon on the rearview mirror back and forth, back and forth, and sweeping the damp curls from the right of my forehead to my left, as my head lolls restlessly on the headrest that's not-quite high enough. I guess this is how it's going to be for a while. Just...cooking, here, in the hot, stifling lack of human interaction that filled the space I unfortunately was stuck in, with no escape.

"Weather's awful today," I murmur, trying to coax something out of my impromptu driver again. "Kinda weird. I mean, when has it ever been this hot in March?" I chuckle uncomfortably and resettle into my chair, creating a few short _squawks_ that did no good but to pierce the already tense atmosphere of the drive.

Years pass.

Oh, and then Reed talks back.

"I guess so." His eyes stay locked on the road before him.

Well. This is fun.

You know that awkward moment when things are just so freaking unbearably awkward that you just want to say something, _anything, _to kill it?

It's like an impossibly desperate anxiety, where you don't really want to talk-but the silence is so ineffably unbearable that the slightest of noises seem a small, sad comfort. Like a small cough, a sneeze, the _tack-tack _of the sticky leather when you move your sweaty thighs from the unforgiving hide...at least then, you've got the acute sting left on your skin to distract you, kill some time. Pathetic. It's almost as if you seek solace in the little cracks in the soundless bubble you've put yourselves in.

I look over to Reed, only for him to catch my eye and both of us jerk back into some dull fixation on a now-fascinating stretch of road, or fiber in our jeans.

But it's not like you can just say _anything, _you know? You can't just make some weird noise simply to break the streak, because then it'd just seem like some desperate attempt to engage them in any sort of...something...which you can't deny, because that's what it _is_. Then you seem like you don't want to be there, and for me, that'd be really ungrateful, considering the favor he's doing me by driving me.

"Erm..."

I almost jump at the sudden life seeming to have taken hold of the small space. "Yeah?"

"It's Kurt. He texted me when you were being treated...he asked me to pull in here for him, seeing as we're going to pass it," he mumbled, sounding apologetic. "That's okay, right?"

"Oh, n-no! You just ahh, scared me a bit there," I stuttered. "You haven't really been talking that much since you offered to take me today. Thanks for that, by the way."

He nods, and the car jumps a bit, a speed bump jostling the contents of the car before settling again.

"Sorry," a weak utter carries over from the wheel, and I hear him flick on the turn signal.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick-_

I wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for himself, or the car.

We turn into a small parking lot, backing into a spot gingerly. Was this Reed's car, or...?

"It's one of my Mother's." he cuts off my thought process-oh, wait-did I say that out loud?

"Yeah...you kind of did." Jesus!

I look over to him again, watching him struggle with the carabiner laced through his belt loop and his keys for a minute. "Blaine's told me about her," I look up from his hands working at the keys, "I kind of pegged her for the type to have hooked you up with a driver, or something. Seems like that's the kind of mom she is...what she would have wanted."

He sighs, and nods, eyes still on the keys. "My mother would rather me do a lot of things differently," I look down. "No, it's okay..." I hear him backpeddle. But the damage was done. Way to go, Shane! One-up for asshattery!

Why did he ask to come if he was in such a weird mood?

Oh, I know why.

Shane : 0

The World: 1

I hear his door open, and I follow suit, ambling out of the low vehicle like some kind of gawky, fumbling spider with a developmental stunt. Curse my build. If I could glare at my limbs, I would. They're just too _long; _it freaking sucks. At school, It's alway, "Oh, Shane! You're such a great dancer-!"

Wait for it.

"-despite your size!" Inevitable. I guess I should've anticipated it. Growing up, I would cry every time I hit a growth spurt, and Blaine would reassure me, telling me that's what set me apart. You see, most dancers are built more like Reed, small and nimble. There's a sense of grace that comes with petite, lithe bodies, they're treasured amongst the age-old art-

By the time I finally stumble out of the car, groaning, Reed's halfway across the parking lot, and I spot him _just _as he manages to fall face-first onto the concrete edge of the sidewalk.

Ouch.

Well, maybe not _grace, _exactly.

I shut the door and lumber over to him as quickly as my sore joints can manage, helping him up and clearing some of the powdery residue from his shoulders with a few swipes from the back of my hand. There's a fresh scratch on his cheek, but it's not bleeding.

"On a scale from one to ten...I rate that fall a good eight, seven from the judge representing Russia," I joke, picking a pebble out from a copper curl. Then, magic happened. He _laughed. _

Oh, there is a God.

It's short lived, though, and suddenly he gasps, looking down.

"Jesus, you okay? You should really watch your step Reed, you've already got the freakin' forces of mother nature against you."

"Apparently," he sighs again, inspecting his vest, "I'm used to it, though...It's just...these were Kors..." he lifts his foot up so that it's parallel the ground, bent at the knee, as if he were playing with a hackey sack. Running his thumb over a miniscule scratch that now apparently ruined the set, he effectively managed to catch a nonexistent gust of wind, promptly deeming his one-footed stance unacceptable, toppling again. This time he waits for no help, jumping up quickly and coloring to his collar (_which I was most definitely _not _staring at) _before mumbling something about happy hour and wasting no time to turn away and hustling into the busy little café, the bell sounding as the door swung shut behind him.

Figures. He takes a class dive, busting his ass, _twice, _and then he worries about his shoes.

Grinning and shaking my head, I follow.

I walk in to be embraced by the all-too welcoming scent of cocoa and sweet things, and my unforgiving stomach makes itself known again. Hobbling up to the counter, I stand behind Reed as he flicks through a canvas wallet, finally plucking out a shining wad of plastic and setting it on the counter with an audible _click. _He pulls out his phone and starts reading out some long, complicated list that's obviously none other than Kurt's exact brewing and preparation instructions before adding an iced tea and a medium drip to the order. He turns to me.

"Um, do you want anything?" He bites his lip, cocking his head.

_No, no, no. No-no. NO._

_Bad Shane. You're trespassing onto forbidden land, here. Don't look at that. _

_Didn't he ask me something...?_

"Oh, um...yeah." I reach into the freezer display below the counter and pull up a bottled coke on the counter. I reach into the pocket of my hoodie, pulling out a wrinkled five before my efforts are dismissed with a light swat of Reed's hand.

"No, no. Really. I've got it, it's just a coke, Shane," He turns to the barista. "That'll be it, thank you. I, um...I really like your earrings, by the way." he adds to the dark-skinned woman behind the register. "They compliment your skin tone really well..." he smiles softly as she thanks him in a thick accent, calling him a 'precious one.'

_Hey, lady._ _Mine._

_Wait, _what? _Okay. _

Getting jealous of guys staring at his ass is okay. Getting jealous of the twins, when they manhandle him, is _okay. _Getting jealous of a foreign elderly woman that runs a café and calls him 'precious' is _freaking weird, and possessive. _

_You have to stop being that guy, creeper. _

The woman's sigh breaks me from my reverie.

She frowns as a man from the back comes up behind her and whispers something in her ear.

"I'm sorry, honey," she starts, looking up from the screen of her computer, "that 'ting you just prattled on about for your friend might take a liddle vile," her accent melodious, "I don't suppose we can put your tea in a mug, yeah? We just made one, but da machine's actin' up again. Might as vell enjoy yourself here while the machine's fightin' wit us."

"Oh, umm, no ma'am. That'd be fine, I guess." Reed's unsure gaze flicked to me and back to her again. I nodded.

"Yeah, we'll be fine, miss. We're in no hurry." I grinned, and she laughed, and a look of recognition crossed her features.

"I know you! I seen your brudda, here. He come with another one, in da matching clothes. He's small, compared to you, boy." I nodded, smile broadening. "You're of de vild humor, I can tell," she giggled. "Dats vut I like about a lot of you American boys. Not so much you," she gestures to Reed, who blushes. "You're like his brudda. Like my father would call you, careful like de oasis. Not like dis tidal wave," she looks to me again, and I feel my face heat, this time. "You both be too skinny, though," she gives us the once-over. 'Specially you." she adds, to me again. I grin sheepishly, shrugging. _At least she's honest, _I think.

She _tisk_ed and tutted a bit, pulling out a napkin and setting it on the counter before her, excusing herself for a minute and disappearing behind a door into the kitchen. I nudge Reed with my elbow, "I like her," I stage-whisper, chuckling. He nods, suppressing a smile.

"She's a character, all right..." he laughs breathily. She bustles through the door again, setting down Reed's mug and plopping three large, gooey cookies onto the tray and shoving it in Reed's arms. He makes a noise of protest, but she shushes him and starts to type into the computer again, leering at the screen as she speaks.

"You boys come in at tree in da afternoon, askin' for de coffee wit your smiles and your sweetness, and expect me to not care for ya when you's all skin and bones," she sends us an accusatory look that could rival one of Kurt's, "Don'tchu do me no wrong by not acceptin' my offer." Reed nods, face redder than ever. "Now off wit'ya. I call you ven your friend's demands be met."

We make our way over to a seat by the window, myself making sure that Reed was _not _the person in charge of walking and carrying the tray at the same time. He settles into the plush chairs, and I make it my duty to divvy out the contents of the tray. I set the coke towards my end of the small metal café table, and carefully lift his mug and it's accompanying tea plate before setting it gingerly in front of him, him thanking me quietly. I plop into my chair, making to hand him a cookie, but he shakes his head.

"I'm not really hungry," he says. "I had a granola bar while you were being treated..." he opens a packet of sugar and pours it into his mug, stirring it in with the spoon. "I'm sorry about this," he adds. "You know Kurt. He tends to micromanage." I chuckle.

"I still think all of you are out of your minds," I laugh, twisting open the coke and hearing the release of air. I set the cap aside and take a swig. "It's too hot for coffee. Eurgh." He nods, a tight smile adorning his face that quickly disappears as he takes a tentative sip from the wide-brimmed mug. He sets it down again, and as he swallows his adam's apple bobs and he licks his lips.

_Bad. Freaking. Shane._

I cough, looking out at the landscape the window offered...that is, a strip mall. "Coffee's always kind of been Blaine's thing, anyway."

He nods, and stares down into his cup with a vacant expression. I watch as he dips his finger into the mug, drawing up a drop of tea that he drags around the brim.

"It's funny," I start, mouth full of cookie. He looks up, still a bit hunched over. "You, um..." I swallow, clearing my throat. "It's funny, how...you're acting really...strange? Yet somehow, more normal than I've seen you be in a while..." I start. There's an unreadable expression in his eyes. I offer him a bit of cookie again, and he shakes his head.

"Are you...are you talking about last week?" he asks. I nod, slowly, and he sighs, eyes guilty.

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"Stop apologizing." I interrupt him, but he keeps going.

"No, no. I was wrong, I just-" he takes in a shuddering breath. "I'm just really, really sorry." I nod, again, coaxing him.

"I didn't mean to...to make it sound like...the accident, was your fault. Because it wasn't, Shane. I was just..." I could see him searching for the word.

"Reed?" He finally meets my eyes. "It's okay. I get it." He starts to shake his head, but I stop him. "No. Really. People say things when they're upset, that they don't mean. It's okay...you're okay."

_We're okay._

His eyes shine again, and he opens his mouth to say something, but not before the old barista's bustling over to us, a medium drip and Kurt's concoction in tow on a to-go tray. I check her name tag. _Esther. _

"Thank you ma'am," I kiss her cheek, and her booming laughter echoes in my ear as she envelops me in a hug that almost knocks the wind from me.

"You take care, now. And don'tchu dare never come back! Imma find you! She looks over my shoulder to Reed, still sitting."You too, liddle bird. Next time, smile for de occasion." Reed nods obediently, standing and handing her the mug as she reaches for it.

"What do you mean, occasion?" I ask. She tuts again, turning to me.

"Every day is worth celebratin'. You got de air in your lungs, de cocoa in your stomach and love in your hearts. I can see it when you look at dat one," she gestures to Reed, over by the trash bin, disposing of the napkins. I color slightly, and she chuckles. "and when you got all dat, what's not to remember?" she claps me on my shoulder and heads back to the counter.

_What a woman. _

Making our way across the parking lot, this time no accidents, thank God, Reed's still just as quiet. When we settled into the porsche, he revved the engine before carefully drawing back out of the lot again. I look up from the carrier held securely in my lap. "That was nice," I tell him. "I mean, I enjoyed myself."

"Yeah..." he turns to me. "I know I wasn't much company."

"Stop with the tearing yourself down, jeez." I laugh. "You were _fine, _Reed. Thanks, again." he laughs, and nods. I see his grip tighten on the wheel.

"We're getting close to Dalton, now..." he says softly, "Are you staying for the movie night?"

"There's a movie marathon tonight? Sweet!" I exclaim.

"I suppose that's a yes."

"You bet."

As he parks in the student lot, he goes to take off his seat belt. I just look at him. He grumbles as the button slips from between his fingers just as the keys did earlier on. I reach over to help him, and our fingers brush. I look up to apologize, and I feel his breath on my face. He gasps. My fingers raise from the belt buckle to his cool cheek, flooded with color.

I lean in.

He tenses.

"Sh-Shane," he breathes. I freeze, millimeters away.

"I know that you're afraid of this happening," I say, the most noise made is from my lips moving and my tongue hitting the back of my teeth.

"It's n-not that," he sighs.

"You d-don't...want?" I know the pain is leaking through my very being at this point, and he speaks again.

"N-not that, either." He's shaking.

I run my thumb over his cheek, and he shudders again.

"Then what is it?" I can smell the tea on his breath.

"I d-don't-I mean, I never anticipated-" he's gasping, now, and I tug him over to my side of the car, his seat belt zipping into place. He buries his head into the area where my neck and shoulder meet, and I run my hands along his back, shushing him. I feel the hot dampness against my collar, and my heart sinks.

_Why do I always make him cry?_

"I know it's weird, and hard," I tell him, and his hands fist my hoodie. My other hand reaches up to stroke the back of his head, carefully avoiding the fresh stitches from last week. "I know you need time, to...to come to terms, with this." I pull him back. "Reed," I breathe. His eyes are tightly closed. "Reed, look at me." He shook his head, and I sighed, pulling him back.

"I know it's scary, and I know you didn't mean those things you said," I can feel my own resolve breaking, at this point, my words becoming less and less thought out and more spilling out, a stream of overemotional unedited thoughts rushing out of me as I just held him. "I know you feel like shit about telling me it's my fault, and I know you feel like it's your fault, too," I choke. "But it's _not, _Reed. If anything, that painting's why I'm still here. If anything, _you're _why I'm still here." I feel him shake again, and a muffled sob escapes him.

"But I swear, Reed, I fucking swear that once you're ready, we'll get past this," my words are muffled by his hair, but I know he hears me. "It'll be beautiful, Reed. We'll be beautiful. It's not meant to start out pretty...but as long as it ends with you and I, I fucking swear it's gonna be perfect." His breathing slows, and he pulls back.

"Do you...still-you still want-?"

I lean forward and press my lips to his searing forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling back and opening my eyes.

"_Of course_ I do."

He shakes his head again and hiccups, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. He shudders again, smiling bitterly.

"I just...always thought...I never anticipated, you know-" I stop him, again.

"But that's exactly the thing, Reed," I laugh tearily. "No one ever anticipates this stuff...it only leads to false expectations. Heartache." I can taste my own tears, the salty taste sticking to my tongue.

Reed takes a shaking breath. "We're actually going to do this, aren't we?"

I can only grin. His phone beeps from the driver's seat. He reaches over, flipping it open, before sighing into the phone.

"Oh my god, Kurt. Your coffee, for the _third_ time, is _fine._"


	3. Of KittyKurts and Dreaming

_Kurt Hummel: Sexually Frustrated Diva Extraordinaire._

"Yeah, and now, back to me-" Reed rolled his eyes at this, shooting me a quiet, apologetic smile and tipping his head toward the unoccupied bed lining the wall next to the door. _Sit, _his eyes insist.

"-My weekend is totally_ ruined,_ my life is absolutely _terrible_ and I hate, hate, _hate,_ everything."

Reed laughs breathily, shaking his head and dipping his brush into an emerald green on his palette. Running it along the canvas, he swirls it through the other shades in a practiced swift, smooth stroke. _Perfect. _

"What, so now you're laughing at my misery? Thanks, _oh-friend-of-mine_. You're a real pearl, a _gem, _even-"

"You're being a bit dramatic, Kurt," he looks at the pouting boy over his shoulder on the bed, "I'm sorry that your Dad freaked, but I honestly don't think it could have been as awful as you say-"

"What, so now I'm a liar?"

_Uh-oh. Bitch voice._

I diffuse the situation.

"What happened, anyway?"

Kurt lifts his face from the pillow, and his usually coiffed-to-perfection locks uncharacteristically flop into his face. He blows out of the way childishly with a harsh puff of air, only for it to fall back into his eyes again. His eyes narrow menacingly.

"My _father." _he spat, glaring through his defiant puff. "The one time I want just a _little _leeway on something, he just-_ugh!" _

He ends in a strangled cry of frustration, plopping his head back onto his pillow and squirming a bit on the bed, rumpling the sheets. He's saying something muffled into his pillow-rather, whining-as it steadily grows higher and higher pitched.

I look to Reed, raising my brow. He dips his brush into a deep blue, holding the same expression of slight amusement.

"Mr. Hummel came home a bit early," he chuckled tiredly.

"What's so wrong with that?" Reed continues to chortle, eyes closing for a moment, then shaking his head, seemingly determined not to look away from his work. "Everyone loves your dad...right?"

"_Not _me," he hissed, and with a flash of regret at his outburst, "Well-I don't like him very much right now. No. Not at _all." _

"Well, why not?"

"Mr. Hummel. He came home...early." Reed repeated.

"What?"

"Oh, my _god,_" Kurt groaned, and Reed sighed heavily, wiping his brush clean on his palette and setting it behind the easel.

"You're catching on a bit slow, Shane." said Reed, exasperated but playful. I watch him retreat into the room's adjacent bathroom. I hear the tap begin to run, and he calls over the water, "Ask the twins, they've been guarding the door, anyway-"

Wait, _what? _

"_HI SHANE!" _

Two bodies, on top of mine, in less than ten seconds.

Ow, _ow, OW-_

"_Gerroffame!"_

"Oh, don't be a baby," Ethan-or-Evan chimed into my left ear.

"We're light as feathers," Whoever called into my right.

_Can't-breathe-_

"Ergh...behave, men. I mean...at least, squish _me_ to death. _I'm_ in the mood."

"Ooh, so Kitty-Kurtie still has his claws out?"

"Oh, so I'm a cat, now? Alice didn't have claws, dumbass."

"_Ray-urr!" _The two boys hissed, beginning to stretch and claw at my body beneath them as they played into their feline character.

"_Jesus_; get OFF of me!"

"Tweedles?" Reed returned from the bathroom, shooting the scene before him a quizzical look. The twins looked up.

"We're just stretching."

"No harm, really. I mean, compared to Meowth over there-"

"What the _hell _is a Meowth?"

It's a Pokemon, Kurt. Duh.

"Yeah, Kitty-Kurtie. _Duh." _

"_Stop _calling me-"

"_HEY!" _

Our attention was directed to the doorway, again.

"Blaine?"

"What the _hell _are you doing on top of my brother-Kurt?Oh, _honey__-_"

"Oh, _Blaine!" _Ethan-or-Evan clambered over me-_ow, ow, ow_-to throw an arm around my brother's shoulder. "I'm _so _glad you're here!"

Ethan-or-Evan, the other one, removed himself from on top of me as well-thank _god-_to occupy his other shoulder, Blaine now trapped in a towering fence of impenetrable Tweedle.

"I missed you so, _so, _much! You just _won't _believe what Daddy did, you _won't." _

"_UGH, _he's _so _unfair, Blainey-poo! You see, I was _very _busy shoving my tongue down my precious boyfriend's throat-"

"-_Very _busy."

"Very, very. So anyway-"

"-He _dared _to walk in his own home, and catch us amidst foreplay of the slowest degree-"

"-he _totally _freaked-"

Blaine, throughout this entire exchange, grew slowly more and more crimson.

"Kurt? C'mere, Sweetheart. Let's go."

Kurt obeyed, sniffling, as he slowly stood and began to shuffle to the door.

The twins, however, were having none of that. Each took a single Dwarfan arm, and proceeded to drag my brother out of the room, kicking and thrashing.

"No, no, no. You see, Kurtie-Cat seems to be in heat. It would be dangerous-"

"-Very dangerous."

"Very, to have a stud puppy around him, at the present-"

"What? That doesn't even make _sense...!" _

As their voices trailed down the hall, Kurt suddenly realized that his boyfriend was indeed being kidnapped, and promptly snapped out of his gloom to bolt down the hall as well, shrieking.

I turn to Reed; alone at last.

He's holding his clean brushes, looking down and twirling them in his fingers gingerly.

"Do you understand what was going on, now?" he asks, eyes raising to meet mine after a moment.

I did. I mean...I _think_ I did. Then again-the bits and pieces I did gather-

Kurt, home alone. Making out with...someone.

That someone being...my brother.

Burt-also known as Papa Bear Burt, Burtinator, or The Mighty Protector of Teenage Male Virtue-coming home, early.

_Yikes._

Poor Blaine. I wince.

"Yeah...Yeah, I think I do." Reed laughs breathily, setting his brushes down. "You're in a good mood."

"It's probably the sleep-deprivation more than anything,"

What?

He smiles softly at me-no, _sleepily._

I start to take in his features fully now, little blotches of blue and purple beneath his eyes , his slowly blinking lids seemed to take entirely too much effort to reopen, and when they did, they drooped.

I turned to the piece he was working on, an intricate mixture hundreds of shades of pale pink and robin-egg blue, swirling together as if the fabric used to make a dancing garment made of entirely cotton candy and down feathers.

"It's my competition piece," he sighs, entirely too heavily, and reaches up absentmindedly to rub at his eye with a fist. "I've been working on it nonstop, ever sinc e my Mom called a few weeks ago-She said that she would come to see this one, so..." He grimaces at the piece. "I want to at least place, you know?"

Oh, Reed.

"How long, exactly, have you...?"

"About...has it been...three...?"

"Three _days?" _

He yawns.

_Oh,_ Reed.

That's enough.

"_Okay_. That's enough."

I kneel, I reach to pull the balled digits from his eyes away, gently, resetting his arm against my shoulder. I slip my other arm behind him, tugging it back toward me. His knees buckle, and he squeaks.

"Shane-!" He's struggling against me in protest.

"No, you're coming with me." I lift him up, and his head falls to my collarbone, his arms tucking themselves protectively around himself.

"You really don't...have to," he sighs, warm breath straightening the hairs on the nape of my neck.

His body begs to differ, though, as it sags against me, giving up to the fact that he's _not _getting put down, after telling me that he hasn't slept in who-knows-how-many days, all sacrificed to smooth, potent acrylics and rough canvas.

I felt his smile through my shirt. It seeped into my skin, warm.

_Nice._

I felt him dreaming.

I walk slowly up the stairs, careful not to rouse him, dodging other students sending us baffled glances.

I wonder what he dreams of.

I indulge myself.

I make believe it's like my dreams...the good ones, at least.

Just...in reverse.

By the time we reached my room, he was snoring slightly, and a small, damp spot had accumulated on my shirt where his mouth rested, parted. I didn't want to wake him, so I set him gently upon my bed, and went to fetch a spare blanket from the closet.

First, I set aside the blanket, removing his shoes, careful to set them on my bedside table to avoid him stepping on them when he awoke. I removed his tie, draping it with them. I picked up the blanket again I set it upon him, tucking in the ends firmly but not too tightly as to not entangle him upon his awakening.

He sighed, in his sleep, when I flicked off the light.

I closed the door, and slid down.

I reach up to touch the spot on my shirt. I chuckle, closing my eyes and resting my head against the door.

Guess I'm a bouncer, for a night.

'cause there wasn't a way in HELL those dreams were getting interrupted by any dumb Windsor, that night.

I'd make sure of it.


End file.
